


Aware

by bringyouhometoo



Category: Emma - Jane Austen, Emma Approved
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Gen, It's not a College AU for EA I suppose but it is for Emma the novel, Pre-Series, be aware knightley's name here is alex not george, i think this stands alone, if anyone who's only familiar with the novel REALLY wants to read it, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringyouhometoo/pseuds/bringyouhometoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aware (adj.): "Having knowledge or perception of a situation or fact."</p><p>"Emma's only been here for a few months, but she misses home, misses dad; misses the summer, when she saw Jane every single day and it was just easy, going on bike rides and spending days at the beach or shopping for college supplies. They’d been so excited, both accepted to the same school, four years of friendship stretching out ahead of them. And now -" Emma, Jane, and the steps that lead them towards and away from each other.</p><p>Aware (Japanese): "The bittersweetness of a brief and fading moment of transcendent beauty"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazykookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazykookie/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Have some college romance, hope you enjoy!
> 
> (A note on the title: I know Joanna (and I guess Emma?) is Hawaiian/German, not Japanese; the word was chosen for its meaning rather than any kind of nationality-significance.)

Emma Woodhouse: pretty, clever, and rich – a dangerous combination on any seventeen-year old, but add _headstrong_ and _spoiled_ and you get…Unstoppable Emma.

“That’s not my name,” Emma shrieks, outraged; Isabella just shrugs, shaking her head at her little sister’s outrage. “Izzy!”

“They’re not _my_ fault, Emma.”

“Make it stop!”

“Marianne’s _your_ friend, you tell her! Anyway, I think it’s a good campaign.”

Emma tosses her head, impatient. “Of course it’s a good campaign – “

“And?” Izzy arches an eyebrow.

“And I guess…” Emma rolls her eyes, then straightens her shoulders. “I guess it’s too late to change the posters anyway. Unstoppable Emma for student council! I can work with that.”

“There’s my girl,” Isabella smiles, patting Emma fondly on the head when she leans in for a quick hug. “Now go, you don’t want to be late.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Emma huffs. “Say hi to John from me.”

“Will do! And you’re coming to his parents’ thing next weekend, right? He asked me to remind you.”

“Ugh, will the kid be there?”

“The _kid_ is older than you, Emma.”

“Whatever.”

*

She’s the favourite to win by a landslide, of course.

Still, there’s a slightly sticky moment during the final day of campaigning, when they’re holding one last Q&A session after school. Emma’s fielded all questions so far – mostly about extending lunch breaks or overseeing the prom committee – with enthusiastic smiles and tosses of her long hair, dishing out platitudes and phrases that _sound_ good but _mean_ very little; and then Anne, the quiet girl who Emma thinks she recognises from freshman English, puts up her hand and asks what their plans for charitable work and campaigns are. Emma is stumped, if only for a few seconds – but then her poise kicks in and she reels off something charming about food drives and donating a percentage of the profits from the Sadie Hawkins dance to a women’s shelter (she’s proud of that one, actually; all right, so she thought of it on the spot, but maybe it’s not a bad idea). Then one of her rivals steps forwards, tucks her lightly curled hair behind her ears, and starts speaking, quietly and earnestly and confidently.

And she doesn’t stop speaking for a good three minutes, taking in everything from recycling and a carpool scheme to more vegetarian options in the cafeteria and a safer sex campaign. _That_ gets a round of applause, if only because everyone’s so shocked to hear this girl – who has until now been something of a blank cipher in the campaigns, intelligent and earnest but not all that engaging – use the word ‘sex’ in front of the _principal_.

But the longer Jane goes on speaking, the more people start to listen – and when she finally finishes, Emma is oddly…disquieted? Is that the right word? Suddenly, she’s not sure she’s the right girl for the job, not compared to –

  1. That’s negative, unhelpful thinking; and Emma Woodhouse does not _do_ unhelpful thinking. So she waits until there’s time for closing remarks, flips her hair back over one shoulder, and takes the crowd back with a dazzling smile.



Still, it’s hard not to let the incident get to her, as the voting booths start closing and the school empties of everyone but the candidates and various hangers-on; Emma makes Marianne stay with her, and they sit in the cafeteria sharing a plate of fries.

“Nervous?” Marianne asks, when Emma looks at the time on her phone for the third time in five minutes.

“Oh, please,” Emma scoffs, though her voice sounds strangely high-pitched even to her own ears. “I am Emma Woodhouse, I don’t _do_ nervous.”

“You’re sure to win,” Marianne sooths, looking slightly concerned. “Everyone loves you!”

Emma has to smile at that, and leans over to pat her friend’s hand. “I know, it’s just –“ she pauses. “It’s just… I don’t know, what if they don’t vote for the person they _love_? Might make more sense to vote for someone who, you know. Actually knows what they’re talking about.”

“You _do_ know what you’re talking about,” Marianna sputters, outraged. “Emma!”

“I know I do, just not like – “ Emma bites her tongue, and falls silent.

“Like _Jane_?” Marianne raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Emma, she gave one good speech. You’ve had the whole school on your side for a month.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe.”

“You’re _going_ to win.”

Emma shrugs again, the words only sinking in slowly. Then she takes a deep breath, and gives Marianne a wide smile. “You’re right,” she says, with a passable attempt at her usual chipper tone. “You’re right! I don’t need to get so spooked by one weird day, it’s just a little…glitch.”

“That’s right! A glitch,” Marianne nods enthusiastically. “That’s all. A tiny, random glitch, you’ll do great. I bet they’ll be done counting soon, and then you’ll be _president_! Emma Woodhouse, sophomore and president.”

“Emma Woodhouse,” Emma smiles. “Sophomore and president.”

“Sounds good, right?”

“It does sound good. You’ll be fine! You’re going to be president, right? Say it.”

“Marianne…”

“Say it, Emma!” Marianne repeats, somewhat sternly; Emma has to wonder at how much she’s rubbed off on her, this quiet girl who was so sheltered and nervous when they started high school. She’s almost a whole new person, and Emma thinks she has to take _some_ credit for that, at least.

“I’m going to win,” she says, giggling when Marianne throws in a fist-pumping gesture for emphasis. “I’m going to win!”

*

And win she does.

“Congratulations,” Jane says, smiling faintly when they shake hands after the initial cheering has died down.

“You too,” Emma nods, somewhat breathless; she’s _won_. “And – and I can’t wait to start working with you!”

Jane raises an arched eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, _really_ ,” Emma laughs, but there’s a bitter taste at the back of her throat. “I need a Vice-President who actually _gets_ this stuff, don’t I?”

“I’m pretty sure you ‘get this stuff’ just fine,” Jane counters, still quiet and composed but with a knowingly sarcastic glint  that Emma doesn’t think she’s seen in her eyes before now. “You don’t have to _fake it_ , you got voted in because they can tell you’re smart, not just pretty.”

“Not as smart as you,” Emma shrugs, too thrown by the three different compliments she thinks she’s just been handed by this girl who until this afternoon she’d always dismissed as uninteresting and kind of stand-offish.

“We’ll make a good team, then,” Jane smiles, and Emma – poised and victorious and confident – feels herself return the smile without quite meaning to.

“Right,” she nods, and this time she believes it. “Well, can’t wait to get started!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE ON THE EVENING OF THE 24th: So my laptop has... Crashed. Again. Which means that parts 2 and 3 of this Yuletide fic, which I have been editing like crazy over the last couple days (my laptop also crashed on the 20th, and I had to dig out a back-up of the WIP to get something submitted in time) now only exist as backup files in a rough draft. I am so very sorry to do this, but will endeavour to get them up over the next two days - think of it as an ongoing Yuletide surprise??? Anyway, hope Chapter 1 was to your liking, and happy Yuletide! xo


	2. Chapter 2

“I just don’t get it,” Emma says, the words muffled by a mouthful of Thai. “What’s got _into_ her?”

It’s ten thirty on the last Friday night before mid-terms, and Emma’s dorm is deserted – so she’s taken command of the tiny living room, got into her pyjamas, and ordered take-out and a listening ear that comes in the shape of her sister’s fiancé’s  brother, the only senior who doesn’t have enough of a life to have plans tonight. That’s what she’d told him on the phone, anyway, and somehow it worked – he’s here, and he’s listened to her rant about the whole Jane _weirdness_ for the past twenty minutes.

Now, though, Alex gives her a long-suffering kind of look, and she hits him on the arm. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re not being helpful,” Emma tells him, only half-joking; Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, Al, what do I do?”

“ _Do_?” Alex repeats, sounding baffled. “Emma! Just talk to her.”

“I’ve tried!” Emma protests. “She’s totally blanking me, she won’t pick up when I call, she’s not answering her texts… I’ve been stalking the coffee cart she always goes to between classes, but so far she’s not even showed up once.”

“Have you tried going by her dorm?”

Emma nods. “And the cafeteria, and the library, and the pool…”

“Okay, that needs to stop,” Alex laughs. “You’re getting a _bit_ intense, Emma.”

Emma buries her head in her hands, feeling a little bloated and a lot homesick; she’s only been here for a few months, but she misses home, misses dad; misses the summer, when she saw Jane every single day and it was just _easy_ , going on bike rides and spending days at the beach or shopping for college supplies. They’d been so _excited,_ both accepted to the same school, four years of friendship stretching out ahead of them. And now…

“Emma?” Alex sounds concerned, and leans over to rub her arm consolingly.

“I know, I know,” she mumbles. “I just don’t know what’s happened to make her do this, and…”

“You miss her.”

“I miss her.”

*

Emma figures she’ll finally catch up with Jane at their one shared class; but when she walks in five minutes before class is due to start, Emma sees that Jane isn’t sitting in their usual row. _Okay, so she’s late. Weird._ But she’s definitely not ditching class just to avoid Emma – Jane Fairfax would never.

Right?

Still, by the time the clock hits 8:01, Emma’s hands are clammy. What if Jane’s just…Gone? Left school? What if she’s _sick,_ what if she’s _missing,_ oh god –

Before Emma has the chance to lose her head completely, though, the door swings open and Jane hurries inside, looking as polished and proper as always, if a little tired, her hair pulled back into a ponytail rather than arranged into one of her usual elaborate styles. She still looks _good,_ Emma doesn’t think anyone other than her would notice that something’s wrong, but – it’s just something about Jane, her posture maybe, the dull look in her eyes, the impassive expression. She’s worn out, and stressed, and this isn’t just mid-terms looming; Emma’s seen Jane during SAT weeks and finals weeks and college admissions weeks, and this is different.

She raises one hand to wave, and gives Jane a wide, wide smile; for a few seconds, she’s scared the other girl will find somewhere else to sit, for the first time in Emma-and-Jane _history –_ but then Jane’s sliding into the seat next to her, and starts looking for pens and notebooks.

“Hey, you,” Emma chirps, after a few beats of silence; Jane barely looks up.

“Morning.”

Not to be perturbed so easily, Emma ploughs on. “Haven’t seen you in _so long_! What’s up, have you been sick or something?”

“Not really,” Jane shrugs, now making a few notes in her journal. “Just busy.”

“Too busy to answer a text?” Emma asks, too lightly to be really casual, but their TA chooses that moment to start speaking, so Jane doesn’t have the chance to reply; Emma can feel Jane’s eyes boring into her side for most of the class, though, and it takes her an extraordinary amount of willpower not to turn to Jane and meet her glances.

 When class ends, Jane is out of her seat and has packed her things up almost before Emma realises what’s happening. She has to run to make sure of not losing Jane for _another_ whole week, finally catching up with her outside on the green.

“Jane,” she calls out; Jane doesn’t turn around, instead speeding up slightly; Emma grits her teeth, and runs again, grabbing hold of Jane’s arm and swinging her around. “Jane, what the hell?”

“I’m late for class, Emma,” Jane says flatly, pulling her arm free.

Emma shakes her head. “No, you’re not,” she says, taking another step towards Jane. “You don’t have class till after lunch today.”

“I’m meeting my guidance counsellor,” Jane says quickly. “And I’m late to _meet_ _her_ , okay, so --”

Emma cuts her off. “Why not say that in the first place?” She doesn’t miss the way that Jane flinches, or the defensive tilt to her jaw.

“It’s none of your business.” _That_ hurts like nothing so far has – Emma feels herself reeling backwards, speechless, and for a few seconds Jane almost looks guilty; then she squares her shoulders, and shakes her head. “Listen, I’ll talk to you later, Emma, okay? I just – I need to go, I’ll come by your dorm tonight? Six?”

“I might be busy at six,” Emma mutters, crossing her arms and hugging them to herself. “Alex is gonna come help me study.” He isn’t, in fact, but Jane doesn’t need to know that; if she can invent meetings and skip lunches, Emma can make up one study date.

“Emma…”

“Come at seven.”

“Fine,” Jane nods, clearly relieved. “Fine! We’ll talk then?”

“Whatever you want.”

*

By six thirty that night, Emma has cleaned her room, showered, straightened her hair, changed outfit three times, and written a bullet point list of Reasons Why Jane Should Tell Me What’s Going On (Item 1: _Secrets aren’t fun if they’re between best friends_ ).

By six forty-five, she’s sent Alex a series of twelve increasingly incoherent Facebook messages; by seven o’clock, he’s sent back various calming encouragements and suggestions for what to say to Jane, as well as a link to an article about baby animals in sweaters. Emma’s laughing again, her shaky nerves almost forgotten, when there’s a knock at her door.

 _Gotta go,_ she types, then shuts her laptop with a snap and calls out “Come in!”

As Jane opens the door and walks in, Emma swivels twice in her chair, unsure of whether to look like she’s still working or like she’s been waiting for Jane; and then they make eye contact just as Emma is mid-swivel, body twisted sideways into what she hopes will look like an utterly casual pose.

“Hello,” she squeaks, feeling ridiculous; but it’s kind of worth it when Jane gives her a genuine, if small, smile. “Sit… Sit down, if you want.”

“Thanks,” Jane nods, taking a seat on Emma’s bed and placing both her hands on her knees.

An odd silence falls. Emma keeps sneaking glances at Jane, and every time she does she finds Jane watching her carefully; after the third time of looking and quickly looking away, Emma clears her throat. “So you wanted to talk?”

Jane sighs, and shifts slightly in her seat; Emma’s heart is beating uncomfortably loudly against her ribs, and suddenly she’s terrified to hear what her best friend has to say. Whatever it is, it can’t be good; whatever it is, it means something is about to change.

“Emma – “

“No,” Emma says quickly, brightly, standing up and giving Jane a jaunty smile. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it, and now that you’re here we can do something fun! Have you had dinner yet? Let’s go get dinner, how about pizza? My treat, to celebrate getting to our first mid-terms!”

“Emma…”

“Or a movie, we could go see a movie, shall I look what’s playing? I’ll have a look!” Emma swivels around before Jane can say anything, opens her laptop back up, and starts typing quickly.

“Emma, can we just –“

“What do you feel like watching? Action? Adventure? Romance? Something animated, those are always fun! Or how about we stay in and watch TV, or we could go and get our nails done, or…” Emma trails off, her stomach in knots; she keeps her face turned towards the laptop. “Or whatever you want. I don’t care.”

She clicks on her to-do list, and starts typing mechanically, barely thinking about what she’s doing; adds _study bio_ and _read book_ and _eat food_ to the list, and then starts color-coding her bullet points; she’s halfway through highlighting all her study-related items pink when she feels a hand wrap gently around her shoulder.

“Emma,” Jane says softly, and waits for Emma to stop typing. “Can you please let me explain?”

Emma huffs, and fidgets in her chair. “I didn’t think you _wanted_ to,” she mutters sullenly, sounding like a spoilt child and not really caring.

“I do,” Jane insists, and there’s something about her fervent tone that prompts Emma to turn around and face her again. “I do want to.”

“Fine,” Emma says quietly, after a short pause. Her chest hurts, and she’s got an uncomfortable itch at the top of her spine; her dorm suddenly feels stuffy, too, like all the air’s gone out of the room. “Fine, Jane. Explain.”

“I’ve been busy…” Jane starts; when Emma pulls a face, she hurries on. “No, no, I know, I know I’ve been weird, but I honestly _have_ been busy. That’s kind of what – what I need to talk to you about – “

“Okay…” Emma still feels uncomfortable, but at least Jane is _talking_ to her again. “Go on.”

“I’m – “ Jane stops, laughs shakily, and reaches out to take one of Emma’s hands in both of hers. “Okay. This is kind of…big.”

Emma’s hand is clammy again, she just _knows_ it, Jane’s holding her hand and it’s _clammy,_ and her heart is racing too quickly for her to be able to think properly, and Jane is still watching her warily, like she’s worried Emma’s about to run out of the room, or maybe punch her in the face –

Instead, Emma pitches forwards, and presses a kiss to the corner of Jane’s mouth, almost missing her lips; she only means for it to be a quick gesture, a kind of comforting reassurance, but then she’s overwhelmed by Jane’s vanilla-scented shampoo, the slightest smudge of Jane’s lip gloss, Jane’s soft, warm cheek, Jane’s _closeness_ – the kiss lingers, and Emma feels the loss of contact like a physical ache when she does pull back.

Jane is watching her with her eyes open almost comically wide.

_Shit._

For the first time, Emma is afraid. Not of Jane’s news – that seems almost secondary, now, to this – whatever _this_ is, the racing heart and the tense silences and the clammy hands, and the way her brain seems to have short-circuited at precisely the moment when her lips made contact with the corner of Jane’s mouth.

“Um,” she manages, then falters. _Eloquent, Emma._ “Um, what was – did you have – the news?”

Jane stares at her for a moment longer, then shakes her head abruptly. “You know what?” she asks, shifting her weight forwards on the bed; in the narrow dorm room, this brings her knees in contact with Emma’s, and Emma doesn’t know why she’s never noticed it before, this electric shock that sparks off at the touch – “Doesn’t matter.”

Her voice is soft, too low to be anything but suggestive; Emma doesn’t think she’s ever had that tone of voice directed at her before, let alone _from Jane,_ sweet Jane, proper Jane, _her best friend Jane –_ this is insane, this is too much, any second now she’s going to wake up from the weirdest dream she’s had in years, it’s even weirder than that one time she had to run a Model UN at the top of the Empire State Building and Hillary Clinton was there –

Emma’s head feels like it’s full of cotton candy; there’s a rushing in her ears that she thinks must be her blood roaring through her veins but feels way too loud; Jane’s eyes are trained on her face, the irises glowing like polished wood with flecks of gold, the pupils blown wide, magnetic, drawing Emma in. She’s inching forwards without quite knowing that she’s doing it; when Jane lifts her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear, Emma thinks she might combust – or faint – or melt into a useless puddle, because that’s how she feels right now, useless and stupid and _oh my god, how did she not notice earlier._

“Emma,” Jane says quietly, and Emma thinks for the first time how _good_ that sounds, her name on Jane’s lips, it’s her favourite sound in the universe, probably. “If you don’t –“ she pauses to lick her lips, and Emma’s eyes get stuck. “If you don’t want – “

“Jane Fairfax,” Emma interrupts, with an unplanned smile, her voice sounding shrill to her own ears. Jane stops, and watches, and waits for Emma to make her next move – but she doesn’t pull away. Emma swallows a nervous laugh, and tries again. “Jane. I mean. What I mean is – that – “

When she falls silent, Jane’s brow crinkles in confusion; Emma has to laugh, then, the sound coming out all breathy and high, the kind of laughter she usually _despises_ ; and then she’s wavered for long enough, and Emma leans forward to close the last few inches of space left between their lips. The first thing she’s aware of is the taste of Jane’s lip gloss, the way it slides against hers; the second thing is Jane’s surprised, muffled response, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, when Emma’s mouth opens against hers, and okay, Emma thought her name on Jane’s lips was her favourite sound in the universe but she was _dead_ wrong; the third thing is Jane’s hand sliding into her hair, holding her in place. And that’s the last thing Emma notices before her eyes fall shut and the sparks explode behind her eyelids, setting every last neuron in her body on fire with wonder and heat.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Emma precisely three weeks, five days, and two hours to come to her senses.

They’re walking back from dinner at one of the two places near campus that serve decent food (that isn’t pizza). It’s nearing nine thirty at night, and campus is beginning to empty of the usual crowds. Still, there’s a knot of nerves that sits in Emma’s throat when she reaches out to wind her hand around Jane’s; they haven’t told anyone yet, she’s not sure if this is okay. When Jane seems to stumble over her feet, Emma risks a sidelong glance; Jane’s face is impassive, hard to read, and Emma thinks she can see something tense in the shape of her shoulders.

“Okay,” she says quietly, coming to a standstill and dropping Jane’s hand. “Okay. What’s going on?”

Jane doesn’t respond immediately, sticking both hands into her jacket pockets and toeing the grass nervously with one shoe. “What do you mean?”

“Jane!” Emma almost stamps in frustration. “Please, _please_ , can we just talk without you deflecting?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Jane mutters, almost sullenly; Emma rolls her eyes.

“Every time we go out it gets weird – no, don’t shake your head, it’s true! I kiss you on the _cheek_ and you freak out, and I get that it takes time, and if you just wanted to take things slower then you could _say so,_ instead of just letting me carry on but looking like you’d rather be anywhere else, with anyone else – “

“ _Emma._ ”

Emma stops, her heart pounding; her chest feels constricted, and there’s a strange pressure building behind her eyes. She hadn’t realised just how much she wanted to talk about until she’d started speaking, but now she can’t stop.

“What, Jane?” she asks, voice thin and reedy. “What am I supposed to think?”

Jane shrugs, avoiding Emma’s eyes. ”I don’t want to be with anyone else,” she says quietly. “If that helps.”

“Not really,” Emma tells her; she knows she’s being mean, knows Jane is clearly struggling to put something into words here, but she can’t help it.

“I didn’t want – “ Jane shakes her head abruptly. “No, it’s not time, we don’t have to – it’s late, can we go? I should get up early tomorrow, I need to work on my lit paper…“

Emma just stares at her. “It’s not _time_? Jane! It’s been nearly a month! You can _talk_ to me.”

Jane laughs humourlessly. “Can I?”

“Are –“ Emma swallows a nervous gasp that ricochets around her lungs. “Are you going to break up with me?”

There’s a long pause, during which Emma can do nothing but stare at Jane and Jane seems to be determined to look anywhere _but_ at Emma. Finally, Jane sighs.

“It’s not like we’re in a _relationship._ ”

Emma feels like she’s been doused in cold water; she sputters, scrambling to form even half a sentence. “Not a relationship – “ Jane nods, and Emma shrinks back. “Then what _are_ we?”

“I didn’t want…” Jane shrugs her shoulders, uncomfortable. “I didn’t want us to get too much. Not before I could –“

“Could what, Jane?” Emma ask, but Jane just shakes her head. She’s not looking directly at Emma, her chin tilted forwards and her eyes shining strangely. She’s _trying not to cry,_ it hits Emma with a bolt, and suddenly she’s deathly afraid. “Jane.”

“Tell you that I’m leaving,” Jane says then, into the silence, her voice brittle, but way too soft to be casual.

“Leaving,” Emma repeats blankly. “What?”

“I got my British passport through,” Jane says, like that explains everything – like it explains _anything,_ which it doesn’t. “I can transfer my credits from this semester, that’s what I’ve been trying to talk to my guidance counsellor about, I thought I’d have to wait and reapply for next year –“

“Wait, stop,” Emma says quietly; her head is buzzing, and she’s not sure she can keep up. “You just skipped, like, ten steps. You’re going _where_?”

“London, Emma.”

“No,” Emma laughs; the thought is too _ridiculous_ for her to do anything else. “No, you’re not, that’s ridiculous, you’ve got school!”

“I told you, I’m transferring.”

“But…” Emma shakes her head, dazed. “Why? Why now, you’ve only just started here, I thought – I thought you liked it here – “

“I did. I do!” Jane reaches for Emma’s hand, but she jerks it back. “Emma, listen. You know I was applying for a passport?”

“Because of your mom, I know, I know – “

“Right. So it got processed, and I went to talk to my guidance counsellor about applying to places there next year, and she told me I could just transfer, no need to wait, so –“ Jane cuts herself off, and takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’m moving at Christmas.”

“No,” Emma takes a few steps back, winded. “No, Jane, what?”

“You heard.” Jane tries to smile, but Emma just stares at her. “Christmas. Or just after. I start at King’s College, London, in January.”

“But…” Emma crinkles her brow. “But _why_?”

“It makes the most sense,” Jane replies. “I can get a living grant because my parents are – because I’ve got no earning parents, the government pays it all, and there’s a loan for fees that you don’t have to repay unless you’re working and earning a good amount, it’s a really fair system, _and_ a good school.”

“You’re moving to London because of a different _kind_ of tuition loan there?”

“And it’s a good school,” Jane repeats, more to herself than to Emma.

“ _This_ is a good school!” Emma half-shouts; they’re drawing a few curious glances now, but she barely notices. “Jane!”

Jane seems to be verging on running away – then she fixes Emma with a stubborn stare. “My aunt can’t pay for me, okay?” she says quickly, the words rushing out like a waterfall. “If I study in London, I can stay with one of my mom’s friends, she needs someone to look after her kids so I wouldn’t pay rent, and the loan wouldn’t make us start paying it back right away, it just… It makes a lot more sense, and Maddy won’t have to worry anymore. And I was going to tell you – I was going to tell people soon, because I thought I’d be moving at the end of the school year, but a couple of weeks ago I found out I could transfer now and save enough on fees to cancel out the plane ticket, so it all just started happening really fast, before I could figure out how to tell anyone.”

It’s the most Jane has said to Emma in one breath all day, and Emma has to blink a few times, processing what she’s just heard.

What comes out next surprises Emma as much as it startles Jane: “You could have told me.” When Jane doesn’t answer, Emma takes a step back towards her, raising her voice. “I said, you could have told me!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, crossing her arms. “Great.”

“Emma…”

“No,” Emma shakes her head. “No, you don’t get to do that, you don’t get to keep that from me and pretend like it’s all fine when we’re _just_ starting – starting this -  are you even into me? Did you just feel so bad about leaving you thought, sure, I’ll take her on a few dates, it’s not like it can _last_ –“

_Shit._ Her cheeks are wet.

“It’s not like that,” Jane says quietly, reaching for Emma’s hand; this time, Emma lets her take it. “I wanted to – it’s been a _long_ time, Emma.”

“Whatever,” Emma mutters, although she can’t pretend that the words have no effect on her. “Should have told me.”

“I knew you’d be upset, I didn’t want –“

“What? To hurt me?” Emma laughs. “Good job.”

“Emma!”

“No, you don’t get to, you don’t get to decide what I know,” Emma babbles; she’s barely coherent, but she’s _angry_ now rather than just hurting, and that’s the difference that lets her pull her hand out of Jane’s, that propels her three steps backwards. “Have fun in London.”

“I’m not leaving yet!” Jane calls after her, suddenly sounding panicked. “Emma! I’m here for another two months, don’t be –“

“What? Don’t be _unreasonable_?” Emma shoots back, relishing the way Jane falls silent. “Whatever.”

*

Jane texts her six times that night, and calls three or four times daily for the next week; Emma’s sure she’d resort to Facebook eventually, which is why she’s blocked her. Jane is still there, in their shared Friday morning classes, in the cafeteria, at the library – but Emma just breezes past her, and Jane never tries to force a conversation. It’s awful, in a horribly routine kind of way; it’s _easy,_ ignoring Jane, but that doesn’t make it _fun_.

And then suddenly it’s Thanksgiving, and Emma spends five days curled up on her dad’s couch, eating too much pie and watching bad movies on TV. Isabella and John visit, Alex in tow, and he spends several hours trying to trick her into calling Jane – but Emma staunchly refuses.

“She’s leaving,” she says flatly. “What’s the point?”

“What’s the _point_?” Alex sounds outraged. “Emma! You’ve been _best friends_ for years, you’ve only just figured out that you want it to be more than that, you can’t just throw it away now.”

“I’m not the one throwing anything away,” Emma spits. “I’m not _moving to England_.”

“Emma, there’s nothing you can gain by being petty. Why not enjoy the time you’ve got left?”

“Then what?” Emma shrugs, blinking back tears and leaning against Alex’s shoulder to avoid looking directly at him. “That’s one thing Jane got right. No point in getting, you know. _Attached_. Not now.”

“That’s not how feelings work, Emma, you can’t just decide they’d be inconvenient – “

“Oh yeah?” Emma sits up straight, and flips her hair back over one shoulder. “ _Watch me_.”

*

Jane writes her a long email over the Christmas break; Emma skims over it, sees the word _sorry_ enough times to know that Jane really does mean it, and then deletes the email before she can read it properly.

*

By the time she visits Maddy Bates with her father to wish her a happy new year, Emma is able to smile graciously and listen to stories about Jane’s trip to London with genuine-looking enthusiasm.

*

She gets back to school, and takes two additional classes, and switches out of English into World Lit. She joins the gym, and learns to bake, and forces Alex to get her out of her room every weekend to _improve his social standing._ He pretends to be fooled, and she’s grateful for that.

Sometimes he’ll mention Jane. Tell Emma how she’s getting on at school, what she’s posted on Facebook, what her plans are. Emma perfects a blank smile, and begins to get very good at deflecting the story back to his (always tragic, always up for discussion) dating life. He’ll try and retaliate, introduce her to his classmates or colleagues, but Emma just laughs it off; she’ll go on a date or two, sure, but things inevitably trail off after a certain point.

*

Emma becomes an expert at being the expert on life, on love, on relationships; she sets up so many of her friends that she starts keeping a running tally.

She very determinedly _doesn’t_ think about what she’s doing, exactly, here; about why it’s so… _convenient_ that no one ever asks the dating expert why she doesn’t date. She thinks Alex knows, or suspects; he wants to shake sense into her sometimes, she can tell, but he doesn’t get it. She’s seeing things clearly now, where she used to blindly trust, and she likes it.

And Emma also becomes very, _very_ good about finding out every single detail of what’s going on in her friends’ lives.

_Never again._


End file.
